Smack My Pitch Up
by Leah Emilio-Depp
Summary: Who doesn't love a good old fashioned love story between a twink and a queen? Jack x Pitch. Part 1 of ? (T for now, but, don't worry, it get's 'good' in the chapters to come)


"You Twink-ass ho, if you don't get your skinny little butt over to this kitchen _right now, _so help me, I am going to-" Pitch screamed in a furious, British outburst, flailing a frying pan over his head.

"Woah woah woah, slow down there, My Little Crumpet." Jack said, sauntering into Pitch's newly decorated Stalactite-Themed Kitchen, twirling his staff around, tapping it against the floor in short bursts of ice. Pitch sneered and folded his arms around the lilac apron he had just bought himself as a "Treat Myself" gift.

"I do not appreciate being called a 'crumpet'," he said, spinning on his heels and returning to the quiche lorraine he had inadvertently burned to a crisp, "And, _you, sir,_ promised that you would help me make dinner."

With an excessively dramatic flip of his coattail, Pitch stomped his foot, picked up the quiche and exploded in an equally dramatic cloud of dark sand.

"GRARGH!" He exclaimed. "I DESTROY EVERYTHING I TOUCH," Black yelled, sending rolling pins, plates and wine glasses shooting up into the air, then shattering them in a black rain of sand and shards. Jack stood there, propped up against his staff, motionless and exceptionally concerned for his boyfriend as well as his own safety.

"Wow," Frost said, "That was… a lot." He took a few cautious and deliberate steps towards Pitch and reached his hands over to his shoulders, pulling him close, "Is there something you wanna' talk about, my Little Shish Kebab?"

"Well, first of all, your pet names don't really make any sense," Pitch choked through tears, "And _second_, shut up, I don't want to talk to you." Pitch smacked the boy's palms away and took off the apron, cleaning up around the kitchen and purposefully making a lot of noise to show how upset he was.

Jack sighed loudly.

"What! What did I do _now? _Come _on,_ babe, you can't just flounce around all day and mope and be so… so… _dramatic! _So _melo_dramatic!" Frost heaved. Pitch pretended not to hear him.

"God! And to think we're already passed the honeymoon period!" Jack yelled, tossing his arms up, "Baby, do you have any idea what kind of ridicule I've gone through just to _be _with you and _this_ is the thanks I get? I mean, e_very_ single day since I moved in with you and this tackily decorated h-"

Pitch spun around.

"_Uh-oh,_" Frost thought. He knew he had made a mistake. Pitch put his hands on his hips. Jack braced himself.

"I'm sorry what did you just say?"

"Now, Babe, come on, I-"

"No, no, no. I thought I heard the word 'tacky'. Well, it must be true, coming from the King of 'Tack'. I mean _**frosted**_ tips, Jack? We get it. Why don't you just go outside wearing a sign that says 'I'M A BOTTOM'?" Jack gasped.

"BOTTOM? Well, at least I've picked a side! You're so far in the closet you're subterranean!" Pitch gasped. The men folded their arms.

"I'M in the closet?" yelled Pitch, "Is that some kind of a _joke_?"

"No, but that is," Jack said, pointing his staff to Pitch's crotch. He gasped.

"Get out."

Jack immediately regretted everything he had just said.

"Pitch, I'm sorry, you know I-"

"Get out, please."

"Baby-"

"Don't 'baby' me," he muttered, turning away and picking up some shards of plate, "I've been alone up 'til you, I can be alone after you, so maybe you should just leave."

Jack actually considered it for a second, if it was what Pitch wanted, and his shoulder twitched backwards.

"At least let me help clean up?" Frost offered. There was no argument, so Jack tip-toed his bare feet around the porcelain and glass, and scooped up large mounds and put them in a pile. The way Pitch shot his eyes over at the pile of fragments, Jack could tell this was not the way he wanted it to be done. He mimicked Pitch and picked them up piece by piece.

Black still had his back turned. Distracted, Jack tried to recapture his gaze.

"Aw, shit!" Jack whispered, dropping a shard and holding the tip of his finger. Pitch looked back at him as Jack shot his finger between his lips. "I cut myself."

Black tried to restrain a smile, but it ended up peeking around both corners of his mouth.

"You're hopeless," he said, taking Jack's bleeding finger and wrapping a dishcloth around it. Pitch glanced around the kitchen, while Jack stared at his eyes. Pitch knew the feeling of those steely blues glaring at him, and he knew his cheeks were getting hot, which embarrassed him and gave even more color to his face.

"You're blushing," Jack said.

"I am not," Pitch said, still applying pressure to the wound, and darting his eyes about, "It's just warm in here or something..." Jack moved forward.

"How can it be warm, when I'm so-"

"Don't say it." Jack smiled, resting his free hand onto Pitch's thigh. Pitch looked down at it as Jack scooted even closer to him. "And we are not doing this now."

"Doing? Doing what?"

"Stop it, Mr. Is-That-Some-Kind-Of-A-Joke," Pitch said, remembering the scathing (yet, admittedly witty) insult. He turned completely away from Jack. "I'm not that kind of guy."

Not taking "no" for an answer, Jack threw his arms around the mans neck and shoulders, plunging his chin into Pitch's neck. The boy brought his lips to the man's ears, "Oh, I know exactly what kind of guy you are. You're sensitive... brooding... intelligent," Jack thought for a second, "... passionate."

With that, Pitch jerked his head to the side, like a bridled horse, but couldn't escape Jack.

"Besides, I was kidding about all that stuff," Jack reached for his staff, "This ain't the only piece of wood I love to handle."

Pitch smacked him upside the head.

"You're disgusting."

"You think that's disgusting?" Jack asked, turning Pitch to face himself. Frost bit his lower lip as he eyes travelled up and down his chest.

"Yeah, I do," Pitch said,, cocking his head to the right and leaning in, a coy smile on his face.

"Well, then, you won't believe what's gonna' happen next."


End file.
